The Devil—With Wings Read Online Free PDF

tonight—”
    The Chinese stopped his rush of words and took a swift backward step. He was paralyzed by what he had done. Too late he saw the shining crystal ovals which he knew to be the goggles of The Devil With Wings.
    Leisurely, Forsythe stepped out of the rear door. Carefully he closed it behind him. Ching stepped to the ground and casually shut off the lights.
    â€œAnd so,” said Forsythe coolly, “Wong Teh-shui has a different color to the lining of his coat.”
    The singsong language did not mean anything to Patricia but she felt herself shivering and she could not look away. A cup of coffee and a Thermos bottle in her hands tipped slowly, unattended.
    Wong Teh-shui’s shifty eyes sought a way out as he gathered the shreds of his courage.
    â€œI was playing Shinohari for you,” said Wong nervously. “I have been giving him false leads—”
    â€œFalse? Anything from you would be false.”
    â€œDivine One!” cried Wong, trembling. “This unworthy associate has done nothing which should be punished!”
    â€œChing,” said Forsythe sharply.
    Ching stepped slowly to Wong’s side and with sudden fury ripped open the man’s purple shirt. Wong tried to fall back but Ching held him while he probed into the pockets.
    One by one Ching drew out rolls of bills. He dropped them contemptuously into the dust where the wind stirred them and mixed them up into a splotch of green and brown.
    â€œYen!” said Ching, spitting into the paper at his feet.
    â€œThis may account for some of the leaks we have noticed of late,” said Forsythe wearily. “You sold the Imperial Advisor Shu-sen out to us. I could expect nothing less in turn. The Japanese have been warned already?”
    â€œNO! NO! I swear they have not!”
    â€œYou would swear to anything. For money. Is the plane ready?”
    â€œPlease! There is no gas. I did not—”
    â€œSilence,” said Forsythe.
    â€œThey do not know! I have given them no inkling of why you are trying to unseat Pu Yi—”
    â€œSo you sold that, too,” said Forsythe. He turned slowly and looked into the car at Patricia.
    â€œI am sorry, Miss Weston. This fellow was an agent and evidently the Japanese know we are to be here tonight. Because of slight haste…”
    He shrugged and turned away.
    Wong’s voice was climbing up the scale with terrified breaks. His knees were getting weak and he began to sag against Ching.
    â€œPlease, Divine One! Spare me this! Please…I did not…”
    Patricia felt herself grow very cold. The coffee spilled unnoticed from her cup as she unknowingly let it slide from her nerveless hand.
    Forsythe had drawn his .45. He carefully took off the safety catch. The metallic click of it was loud all out of proportion to Patricia.
    She sensed some titanic struggle here. She knew that Wong was a pawn on the board—a worthless traitor. But even so, the swiftness of the trial, the smallness of the evidence…
    Everything was hazy in the moonlight as though she saw it through a thick, gauzy curtain of unreality. The tall man in black, the shuddering Chinese now on his knees begging, the impassive Ching.
    The trio swam in Patricia’s sight. She heard the .45 explode. The shot had been muffled as though something was up against the muzzle. There was no light from it.
    A sickish, sweet odor rose up to mingle with the acrid fumes of powder.
    Forsythe calmly replaced the empty in his clip. He turned with a weary face to Patricia and opened the door to help her out.
    She cowered back from him, shivering, eyes abruptly blazing with untamable fury.
    â€œPlease,” said Forsythe. “We have but little time. I should not like to have you witness the execution of Ching and myself.”
    â€œIt would be a pleasure!” she cried wildly.
    His hand stabbed inside and caught her wrist. His strong grip would leave fingermarks like a brand on